You Are the Reason that I Wait
by haveiloved
Summary: Clint is shipped off to Normandy to fight in WW2. He leaves his girlfriend behind with a promise that he'll come back to her. He meets a friend in the trenches and soon realizes what it feels like to lose so much in so little time. A 1940s AU


**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.**

* * *

"Clint so help me God, you crash this thing-!" Her sentence was cut off by a squeal as he made a sharp turn, avoiding a tree.

"You were the one who wanted to ride handlebars Nat." He continued on the dirt path laughing at the way her hands gripped onto the bike.

"I didn't know you'd narrowly miss every tree that we come across."

"It's the thrill. Besides, summer only lasts so long." She laughed again before kicking her legs up in the air. Her red hair whipped in his face, it smelled like pineapples. It was a weird scent, but so irrevocably hers.

"Don't remind me. You'll go off and leave me here in the middle of nowhere Alabama."

"Nat I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't leave you here, I'd bring you with me."

"Let's talk about this later, the lake is coming up." He pulled up and let the redhead get down and dismounting himself before propping the bike against a tree. "God I love the summer! Look at the leaves! All nice and green. And the water, so blue." She spun around in a circle, arms out wide.

"You were complaining about it last week."

She stopped and looked him dead in the eye. "Well it's humid in Alabama, I was sweating indoors!"

"You still looked beautiful!" He got a smack on the arm for that one.

"No one looks good when they're sweaty."

He learned long ago that arguing with this infuriating red head wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he dropped the subject. "Are we eating first or swimming?"

She already made her choice when he looked up. Natasha was already stripping off her dress, revealing her bathing suit, and prepping to get in the water.

"Okay. Swimming it is." Not even an hour into the "date", Clint had dunked Natasha in the water at least ten times. She had makeup running down her cheeks, sopping wet hair, and a slightly crooked smile.

She was still beautiful.

She was a little curvier and an unorthodox kind of of gorgeous. Not your stereotypical babe in a bathing suit with a completely flat and tanned stomach. Her thighs weren't a mile apart and her hips were bigger than she'd like. Shoulders a little broader and cheeks a little chubbier than others would deem perfect. Her smile wasn't always bright, sometimes pained, fake, and sad. She never looked for someone to listen to her sob story, she kept it in until he pressed for information, pressed for her release. Her walls were stronger than the Great Wall of China at its beginning. Although she seemed cold, her heart was bigger than anyone else he knew, and it was warmer than an African country on the Equator. She ate like she would in front of her family. There would be crumbs on the side of her mouth and food stuck between her teeth, but there was never a time where she didn't act like herself around him, or anyone for that matter.

She was Natasha to everyone else.

Tasha and Nat to him.

And only him.

* * *

He was drafted at the end of the summer for the war. She hated him for it.

He hated himself for it too.

He was never supposed to leave her this way.

On the day he actually had to leave, she was there the whole time. Her red hair cut to the bottom of her jaw, not long enough to hide the tears in her eyes. She wore her blue overalls that day at the airport. When asked about the choice in outfit she simply shrugged. "Why bother wearing something he never sees me in? He'll return home, and he'll return home to see me in these blue overalls."

She knew they were his favorite.

Though he never told her personally.

Their families stood about fifty feet away from them. He doesn't want to board the plane and she's about to cry. But he has to and she refuses to show any sign of sadness in front of him. She held onto his waist in a vice like grip, and his arms held onto her upper back. He tried to remember the waves in her hair and the smell of pineapples she carried. She tried to remember the way his strong arms felt around her and the way he always managed to smell like the outdoors.

"Come back alright?" She whispered.

"Doubting my ability already Romanoff?" She smiled slightly. He wished he brought a camera.

"No, I just thought you'd need a reminder." He kissed her lips softly, neither were big on personal affection, but it was the last kiss for awhile.

Mint breath, and pineapples. All Natasha.

"I'm going to write to you. And you're going to write back. I'll need something to distract me."

"I don't know if I like you that much Clint."

"I love you." He whispered those words quietly against her lips, she held back a smile. Natasha never said anything back. "Well," he asked, "aren't you going to say it back?" She kissed his lips once more.

"Oh Barton, you already know."

His flight was called. He had to leave her.

And the worst part was, he'd never have enough time with her.

He never made her promise to come back to him.

I guess it never crossed his mind.

But he surely wished it had.

* * *

He wasn't immediately sent to the front lines. They had to gather the soldiers together first before they were shipped off. Many soldiers, like himself, were drafted and used this time to get a handle on weaponry.

One particular night, before they were shipped off, Clint was reading her letter by the fire. She talked animatedly about her family and his of course. Spaghetti night occurred last week on a Wednesday. Her little sister had managed to snag the attention of all the boys in her grade and his little brother managed to fight every single one of them. His family and her family were practically in laws. They were just waiting for Clint to man up.

He read and laughed quietly by himself and wished he was there with her, instead of some foreign country waiting for something to happen. Clint was reading her last paragraph when a blonde man came over and sat next to him.

"Letters from a special friend?" The man was of a bigger stature with broad shoulders and muscles everywhere. Clint almost didn't respond.

He replied once he snapped out of his slight reverie.

"Yeah, I wouldn't call her a friend though. She would kill me if she heard me say that."

"Girlfriend?"

Clint nodded.

"I have someone like that back home. She's English but moved to New York when the war broke out. I met her when she dropped her groceries in the parking lot on her way back home." They sat in silence for awhile before the blonde man broke it. "I'm Steve, by the way."

"Clint."

"If you don't mind me asking Clint, how'd you meet her?"

"We were neighbors, and sat next to each other in school. She pushed me off the monkey bars."

* * *

He was immediately brought to Normandy a few days later. They split up the soldiers to go to different places. Clint was relieved when Steve was sent with him. Both men shared stories of their childhood and significant others.

Peggy Carter was her name. She was a beautiful brunette who was strong willed, independent, and lady like. She could fire a gun and still dance like a professional. She was sweet and polite. She was angelic and graceful. Steve talked about her like she was the sun and the moon, the stars in the sky, and to him, she probably was.

In turn, he told him about Tasha.

It was harder than it looked. How do you explain someone so complex like her? He tried though. He told Steve that she was beautiful in her own way with red hair and not the ideal thin, but close enough. She had curves in spots that she hated but he loved. When she smiled, it showed her slightly crooked teeth but it was breathtaking. He told the blonde about how no campfire could compare to the color of her hair and no sound could compare to the sound of her voice or laugh. She wasn't polite, lady like, poised, or any of those things. She was strong, independent, brutally honest, a bit unorthodox, and closed off. She was graceful in the simple ways she moved but couldn't dance to save her life. She wasn't an eloquent speaker and couldn't move the masses by a five sentence speech. She was all action and often contemplated life on quiet days.

Steve nodded in understanding because he understood. He understood the look in Clint's eyes, a look that Steve often had when he saw Peggy or talked about her.

He was in love with her and it was as simple as that.

One particular night both men were sitting in the trench reading letters. Steve laughed a little and told Clint that Peggy had a family dinner. Her uncle was beyond drunk and ended up running naked down the neighborhood. Although Steve was laughing, Clint could tell the man was tearing up. Hell they all were. He missed Natasha's birthday and their fifth anniversary. Nostalgia was taking its toll on the soldiers around them.

"What did Natasha say?" Steve asked.

"She said that I better get home in one piece. She managed to keep her tomato plant alive for the first time ever."

Steve chuckled. "Why is that such a good thing?"

"She manages to kill every plant. Drowned a cactus last year."

"Can she cook?"

"Hell no. Nearly gave me food poisoning when I was sick with a cold."

"What'd she make?"

"Chicken noodle soup."

Steve was astonished but a smirk played on the edge of his lips. "How'd she mess that up?"

Clint looked down and laughed a little before he looked up to the stars. "I don't know but it's kinda funny. It's her"

"Peggy used to make the best blueberry cobbler. When she made it, she'd call me saying that it was ready. When I'd get there, she'd already have the homemade vanilla ice cream ready. She'd smile at me and ask if it was good or was never a cobbler of hers that was less than spectacular."

They sat in silence listening to the gun shots around them. Neither were focusing on them, over the last few hours it had become background noise to their conversations. A particularly loud shot rang out followed by a cry about fifty feet away from Clint and Steve. It was one of their own men. A chill seemed to run through the trenches, one of the first to lose their lives.

That night both men huddled shoulder to shoulder and silently prayed to whatever they believed in.

* * *

They were both uncomfortable. Their socks were soaked and muddy along with their uniforms. Morale was low except for Steve who still believed that it'd be okay in the end.

Maybe that was why they were such great friends.

Steve was the optimist while Clint considered himself a realist.

He was too pessimistic to be a realist in Steve's mind, but he never argued it.

"I miss her." Clint would shout over gunshots and cries of agony. He was pretty sure they both were starting to get PTSD but he could never be sure. They had each other, which was good enough for them.

"When we get back, you'll have to introduce me to Natasha. She sounds like a classy woman."

"Only if you introduce me to Peggy."

"You sir, have yourself a deal."

It was later that night, both men resting in the trenches. You couldn't see the stars, the smoke of warfare was blocking the view.

"When we get home Clint, we'll still be friends right?" Steve asked, staring up. If Clint didn't know any better, he'd say the blonde sounded a little scared.

"Yeah man, why wouldn't we be?"

"You live in Alabama, I live in New York, wouldn't that be a long way away?"

"Meet me halfway. We'll settle down there, go to each other's wedding, be neighbors, and then grow old and fat together."

Steve chuckled a little. "Peg could teach Nat how to cook."

"And Nat could teach Peg how to clean and get every stain out of clothing."

"What does your letter say today Clint?"

He looked through the letter again, trying to figure out a summary for his companion. His eyes searched through the heart dotted i's and cursive writing. "She said nothing was happening, her parents finally divorced."

"Wow, I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't worry about it. Her dad was an ass. It was bound to happen." Steve stared at his brown haired friend with confusion at his ease in the situation. "She also said that she misses me a lot. She wanted me to tell you hello and she wishes you luck 'in the hellhole I'm sure you're living in.' Wanted to tell me that she'll be wearing blue overalls when I get back home."

"Tell her I said hello back and wish the same if you get a chance to fit that in your letter." Steve read over Clint's shoulder and paused. "Clint, why does she say 'you already know' as a salutation as opposed to love?"

"She has issues with love especially growing up in the house she grew up in. So instead of saying 'I love you' she says-"

"You already know."

"What'd Peggy say?"

"Told me to stay safe, said that you better watch my back. Said I should remain true to myself and there would be blueberry cobbler on the table waiting for me when I got home."

* * *

Clint and Steve already had bags under their eyes. They were hungry, tired, and nostalgic. Clint had gone so long without Natasha, he forgot he was able to feel his stomach jump in excitement and worry in the only way love can do. Steve still fought on, something the darker skinned man admired. He never gave up, never complained, he'd just counter Clint's negative remarks with words of hope.

"It's gonna be all good," he'd say, "we'll make it out of this, and justice will be done."

Clint always wondered why he could still act like everything was fine, like they weren't watching their friends die around them or fighting a war.

"How do you do it?" Clint asked.

"How do I do what?"

They were shooting at the enemy but still maintained conversation. It distracted them from the lives they were taking, fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, of waiting families back home.

"Stay so positive."

"I just remind myself of the blueberry cobbler waiting for me at home. I imagine Peggy smiling. I remember the time we went dancing. All you have to do is remember her."

Looking back, he wished he wasn't so busy remembering that it distracted from his best friend.

* * *

Nothing should've been different about today. It was supposed to be mundane. The only pain he should've felt was hunger pains and the ache of his body. Steve and Clint stood side by side as usual. Gunshots became some sort of melody around there, it almost hurt when it was quiet out.

It wasn't quiet that day.

They were just shooting, what they did everyday when another cry came out. Clint didn't think too much about it, those things were typical and he's sure that he'd hear about who died later that day. But this time was different. The cry was louder, closer, and he felt drops of something warm. It wasn't raining. Clint reached up to his face to wipe the liquid off.

His fingers came back dirty with a layer of red on top.

He looked to his left and he swore his heart stopped.

Steve wasn't there.

Clint's eyes searched for the familiar tuft of blonde hair.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't.

He only heard coughing and wheezing.

Clint didn't want to look down but he had to.

And he did.

He regretted that decision so much. His friend, dying there, and out of every man, was on the ground gasping for air like it would be his last.

Steve laid there with a red spot growing on the left side of his chest. Clint bent down.

There was blood everywhere. And it wouldn't red spot looked like a growing flower but pricked his heart like a thorn. He tried covering it to stop the bleeding but Steve only shook his head and took his hands. Clint had never cried before in his life before. But he did then.

"No use Clint, I'm a goner."

"What happened to speaking positively?"

Steve gave his friend a pained smile and winced. "I'm speaking positively. I'll be going to heaven, that's a great thing."

Clint didn't tell the dying man that he didn't believe in heaven, that it all seemed a little preposterous. He just nodded.

"What about Peggy? You have to go back to her, there will be blueberry cobbler on the table."

"Tell her for me please. Tell her I'm sorry, I'll taste her cobbler in heaven. Tell her not to give up yet. Please Clint."

Both men were crying. Blood, sweat, dirt, and tears combined into a tragic masterpiece of someone dying and the other breaking.

"You can't just give up like this man, what about Richmond? What about the future life? You can't just stop hoping now. I honestly believe this is the worst time to start."

"You and I both know I won't make it, don't lie to yourself either." Clint was falling apart at the seams just looking into the fading blue eyes of his best friend. This man was the greatest man he ever knew.

"It was supposed to be me dammit! God if anyone deserves to live Steve, it's you. No one here actually cares about those people. No one here cares about those Jews dying. But you do. These men just wanna go home to see their loved ones. And Peggy! She'll be alone without you." Steve deserved the world, a family, loving wife and some damn good cobbler. All of which he wouldn't get in this world.

"She'll have you. She'll have Natasha." Steve was coughing up blood which left a crimson stain on the side of his cheek.

"What about me Steve? I'll be alone here. No one will watch my back. No one will ask about Nat. Who will keep me from going crazy?"

"You will move on from me eventually Clint. I am nothing more than just another chapter in your life."

"A damn good one Rogers. Probably the best yet."

"Meeting Natasha isn't the best?"

"This is the second best chapter." Steve was coughing up more blood and practically choking on it as he tried to laugh. It was pitiful to watch and it made Clint sick that the best people had to die before the worst.

"You'll be fine Clint. I promise, think of this as a beginning to a new start."

"And the ending to a great story, a great life."

"You take care of yourself, I don't want to see you anytime soon." Steve's breaths were shallowing with each word and it was tearing Clint apart to see him this way. "You take care of Natasha and Peggy for me okay? You buy that house in Virginia, grow fat and old, have grand kids." There was another cough followed by more blood.

Steve's clock was running out.

"Steve," he took a moment to hold back his tears before continuing, "thanks for all of this. You kept giving me hope even after all this shit just like the fucking Northern Star. You are a constant light in my life, and for that I thank you."

Steve was breaking down into tears, gasping for air, and giving his best friend a watery smile all at the same time. He knew he didn't have much left in him, his heart was slowing and his vision was going black. He was losing feeling in his appendages.

He spoke, using the last of his breath. "Thank you, for showing me how to hope."

* * *

_Dear Clint,_

_I am so sorry that you lost Steve. I want to tell you that it'll be okay, that it'll all return to normal one day, but I can't. You told me how much you hate false hope, how much you hated liars. Maybe the thought of Steve won't hurt as much as it does now. Maybe that was the last push you needed to truly fight. Because, lets be honest Clint, were you fighting for anyone before this happened? On a lighter note, your wonderful mother gave me her old car. I will be driving it around soon, and when you come home, it's the car we will ride in. That's all the interesting news here, nothing else._

_You already know_

_Nat_

Her letters were the only thing keeping him sane. Clint never talked to any other soldier other than Steve, who was in the process of being sent back home to New York for burial. It would take awhile, but he was going to go to Steve's gravestone, if it's the last thing that he does.

He drank himself into oblivion every day that he could. Alcohol would let him forget some days, other days it would only make his throat and his heart hurt. It blurred his vision and gave him terrible hangovers in the morning, variables he was okay dealing with as long as he couldn't remember the blonde best friend dying where they slept.

The Americans took over Normandy, meaning Clint was shipped elsewhere. He never bothered to remember the name, it wasn't worth remembering, not if he was alone. His calendar was marked by the days he would receive mail from Tasha and the days when he drank to forget. Clint knew that no matter what, his nightmares would be plagued with Steve's blood on his hands and his best friend's last breath. There would never come a day when he wouldn't regret not dying in his place.

Steve was the ghost that would always haunt him.

* * *

Clint was honorably discharged a year later with several shots in both arms. He was happy nonetheless, he would be away from war and he could see his girlfriend again.

Natasha.

His heart longed for her selfishly and foolishly. She might not love him anymore, he was scarred and broken. Bruised and crazy, he was probably some form of insane. But maybe she wouldn't care, maybe she would love him anyway.

He stepped off the plane looking for her blue overalls. Her red hair and crooked smile. He wanted to run to her and cry as he held her in his arms. He wanted her to tell him that he'd be okay, that she would never leave him.

But she wasn't there.

He expected as much, she was never a punctual person. So he waited. He sat in a plastic chair waiting for her. His eyes lit up when he saw red hair, shoulders tense, but deflated when it wasn't her. He sat there for what was around three hours before he saw his mom running towards him. He was confused but nonetheless happy.

"Mom I'm so glad to see you! Where's Natasha? I thought she was picking me up."

Her eyes looked a little tired and dull, they were swollen and red.

"Mom, is everything okay?" She just shook her head and made him sit down. Her eyes were shining with tears and she kept messing with the ring on her finger. She was twitchy and cleared her throat several times. Her hands were shaking when she spoke.

"Natasha she-" His mom coughed to choke back tears threatening to escape. "She got in a car accident."

He felt that same gut wrenching he felt when Steve...

No. It wasn't like that, she's fine. His mom overreacted all the time. It was just like the other times. Natasha was okay. She had to be. He wasn't sure if he could lose anyone else.

"She's okay right?"

Mrs. Barton stayed silent and only shook her head, tears finally leaking. "No. She died on impact Clint. I am so sorry."

His world came crashing down around him. He fell out of his seat clutching his head and yelling in pain. She was gone and he had nothing to live for anymore. His Natasha was on her way to pick him up and she died. He only had a few more minutes until he'd see her again. But he wouldn't see her anytime soon.

"Clint, c'mon sweetie. Get up, we need to get home." She tried to coax him from his position but she couldn't. He stayed there shaking, crying. "Clint, we have to go home."

He mumbled something incoherent to her.

"What did you say?" She asked.

He sat up, eyes red, hands trembling, lungs heaving. "I said what's the point? She's not there anymore. I have no home without her. I was supposed to marry her dammit. We were going to move Richmond with Steve and Peggy. And our kids were gonna have my hair and her eyes and they were going to be beautiful just like her. We were gonna have five children and have them all be boys except for the youngest who would be my only little girl. Natasha would have been escorted down the aisle by Steve when we got married. She would have been so self conscious of all the attention on her. She'd ask me if a dress made her hips look big. She was gonna wear those blue overalls and her hair would be down. It'd be longer than it was last time I saw her." He paused and broke into another fit of tears. "She was going to see me and only smile. She was going to calmly hug me because she doesn't do any form of dramatic sign of love. Or at least, she didn't."

His mom sat on the airport floor and held him. They cried together until their eyes were sore. By the time they left, their knees had the tile pattern molded into their skin.

* * *

Her funeral was terrible. He hated every minute of it. She wasn't there, all he had was her little sister that looked exactly like her. Elena had tears in her eyes but didn't show them. She was only twelve and was already holding in emotions. He sat beside her and held her hand to hold them both together, both of them hated this service, and they hated the fact that no one knew her as well as they did. They hated the fact that her dad didn't even show up.

Clint had to give a speech, or eulogy, about her. He hated it. These people wouldn't know how amazing she was based off his speech. Clint wasn't eloquent either, it was something he had in common with Natasha.

Natasha.

It hurt knowing he'd have to refer to her in past tense now.

"Natasha was my girlfriend," he started. "She was everything I ever wanted and more. She was beautiful, and still is. And if you didn't know that, you shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here if you didn't know that she couldn't cook but she could clean. You shouldn't be here if you didn't know that she changed everyone around her by simply being herself. Anyone who didn't know her, it sucks to be you. She was what kept me from going insane after my best friend died in the war. She was what was keeping me happy all these years. She was my north star, my muse, my sense of direction and passion. And if she wasn't that to you, then you can go fuck yourself. She was a broken angel to anyone who met her. So if you don't know her like I do, like others do, you'd be doing us all a favor by leaving now. We don't want apologies. We want her back and that's it."

His mother was crying along with Natasha's. Elena was clenching her fists to keep in the tears. Clint walked off the podium and walked straight out of the church. He was done with this. All this pain he was feeling had to be temporary, but he still hadn't gotten over Steve's death. And that was two months ago. It all seemed unfair that life would let him suffer twice in a row. It was like getting the wind knocked out of you and being punched in the stomach not a minute afterwards.

His eyes burned with tears again and his hands were shaking again as he walked home. His legs were being controlled by something other than him, he couldn't think clearly enough. It was like he was drunk on loss, on sadness. It was time he left this place.

That night he packed up his bags, with a letter in hand. He was leaving that night to go to New York.

* * *

Before he left that day, Elena gave him a hug and made him promise to visit. She cried because he was leaving and she couldn't. He couldn't stay there any longer, not when they went everywhere and did everything in that small town.

Clint arrived in The Big Apple and was amazed by the city. It was a city that just looked like Steve. His left hand clutched the letter in his hand, while his right held his bags, he was searching for the address. He crossed many roads and went down many blocks until he stumbled upon a small modest house.

He knocked and held his breath at the same time. The door opened to a young woman with brown hair, brown eyes, and unmistakably red lipstick.

"Peggy Carter?"

She nodded.

"I'm Clint Barton, I knew your boyfriend. We were -"

"You don't have to continue, I know who you are. I was wondering when you were going to stop by." She smiled sadly and opened the door a little wider, inviting him in. Her house was definitely feminine but not extremely. There were photos of her and Steve around the house. "I've heard good things about you." Peggy gestured for him to take a seat on the couch while she went to the kitchen. She returned with two plates of blueberry cobbler. "Would you like some? I've been cooking so much lately, especially this, and I can't stop. He usually ate so much and he's not here anymore and-" She wiped tears at her eyes and took a place beside him on the couch. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be spilling all this on you. Where's Natasha? Steve said she'd come with you to visit."

His heart shattered again. "She died in a car accident a week ago." Peggy looked sorry that she asked but never muttered an apology. Instead, she stood up and walked into the kitchen to come back with two glasses and a bottle of liquor. She poured them both a glass.

"Guess love doesn't work out for us?" She downed the drink in one sitting and reached for more. Peggy took a deep breath and shut her eyes. "Meanwhile all my friends have husbands and children, I drink myself to sleep just about every night."

"You and me both." They throw back cups and cups of liquor until the bottle is empty.

"It's not fair. Steve was the greatest man I knew," she slurred. "And he died. I was looking forward to Richmond you know? I wanted to meet you, the guy who Steve talked so highly of."

"I'm not that special."

"And I wanted to meet your girlfriend. She seemed lovely." Silence filled the room. "I wanted to be neighbors, friends. I wanted to have a boy that would fall in love with your little girl. I loved the idea of my children growing up with other children who would be around forever."

"I wanted to be able to see Natasha walk down the aisle. I wanted Steve to ask me how to propose to you. I would have laughed and told him to stop stressing because you'd love it anyway. I knew so much about him, yet so little."

They both sat there, tears streaming down their cheeks. Their hearts were empty and broken. The only way to fix such a pain would be alcohol because neither lover was coming back. And as they looked and observed the wall in front of them, they think of regrets. Because, in all honesty, you don't start to regret things until you are standing in front of their tombstone with tears running down your cheeks because there were so many things you could have said, done. You just remembered the other things on your bucket list and the fact that they won't be there for your birthday, or Christmas, Thanksgiving, or any other family holiday.

"Guess it's just us then Peggy."

* * *

_Fin_

_Hope this was okay. I hate to ask, but if you could review that would be nice. _


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